


Winner Takes the Roses

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Despite Dusty's thoughts, it wasn't exactly that everyone else wasn't only playing at having a good time; they were all just as anxious as Blade. They were just better at hiding it by now was all. They knew that this lifestyle was Dusty's choice, what he loved and really thrived on. They might all be practically vomiting with fear every time he goes up, but could take it at seeing him just be so happy. This was what he lived for. However, it was already a widely-known fact to everyone that most racers die young, whether from accidents or just the constant strain that they put their bodies through, and it really wasn't helping that Dusty had never learned the meaning of the words "pace yourself". The smart ones would make their money and retire early; Dusty would probably consider retiring when he was dead, and Blade Ranger wasn't one to kid himself. Dusty was only one of two aircraft in Blade's life that were the biggest hot-dogs that he'd ever known, and the other was already dead."</p><p>Takes place a little while after Pressure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner Takes the Roses

It was a warm, cloudless, beautiful October day in Arizona. It was about eighty-nine degrees outside, but a fair enough breeze was blowing and took the most of the edge off of it. Dusty fidgeted under Dottie's forks, more out of eager nervousness than his usual inability to simply keep still for any period of time. Today was a big day, and she was going over him from top to bottom, checking and rechecking, fine tuning and tightening this, that, and the other thing. Getting him ready to race, leaving no stone un-turned, for this race in particular was a very important race to win. There were two stat rivals competing with him, which meant that winning this race would give him a three-point major. And he only needed one more major to finish out his Championship run.

Dusty was trembling on his wheels all the while in excitement. And what was more was that someone very special was going to be there to see it happen. The timing was perfect, fire season will have died down almost completely this time of the year, there was no excuse for him not to be here, and so, after much pleading and nagging and begging, Blade Ranger had flown all the way out into the deserts of Arizona to watch Dusty race for the first time.

Blade watched as Dottie finally released the racer as the minutes counted down to when he and the other competitors would be taking the field. The weary excitement that he had before was quickly boiling down to to just plain full-blown anxiety now. He was staring up almost blankly as the Formula class was finishing up their last lap, his breath coming in shallow and shaky when Skipper came up to his side and turned him away back toward the pit tent.

"Hey," Blade could hear him softly say to Dusty, "You okay?"

Dusty just nodded anxiously, not quite looking at him as he bounced on his landing gear to try and get some of the jitters out.

"Don't be nervous. Deep breaths."

Everyone commenced just making small talk, nothing to do with races. Making jokes, telling stories to try to distract him and also themselves. They were all pulling so hard for him that his emotions could be felt acutely by the rest of the group. But there was Blade, in all his seemingly stoic solemnity, looking quite severe with his flashy livery and also very out of place in his demeanor. Dusty wanted to go to him, to try and get him to snap out of whatever funk he was in and just try to enjoy himself. He wasn't going to begin to act like he knew the inner-workings of the Air Boss' mind, but he did have an inkling or two. However a voice suddenly went ringing out over the PA system.

"ATTENTION. WILL THE SPORTING CLASS COMPETITORS PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN RUNWAY. REPEAT, ALL SPORTING CLASS COMPETITORS TO THE MAIN RUNWAY, PLEASE."

"Okay, this is it. Wish me luck guys." he said as everyone came in to give him hugs or pats of encouragement.

He spared a look back over to Blade, who seemed to have tensed up even more now.

 _Please, Blade, relax and smile_ , Dusty was begging in his mind. _Just for a minute, please. Don't look like you're still working so hard, like your whole life is such a damn strain. For once just relax. Everyone else is relaxing and talking and having fun. I'll be okay. The weather couldn't be more perfect for a race day_.

But Dusty neither moved nor said anything except, "See you all at the finish line!" before he headed down to the end of the runway.

Despite Dusty's thoughts, it wasn't exactly that everyone else wasn't only playing at having a good time; they were all just as anxious as Blade. They were just better at hiding it by now was all. They knew that this lifestyle was Dusty's choice, what he loved and really thrived on. They might all be practically vomiting with fear every time he goes up, but could take it at seeing him just be so happy. This was what he lived for. However, it was already a widely-known fact to everyone that most racers die young, whether from accidents or just the constant strain that they put their bodies through, and it really wasn't helping that Dusty had never learned the meaning of the words "pace yourself". The smart ones would make their money and retire early; Dusty would probably consider retiring when he was dead, and Blade Ranger wasn't one to kid himself. Dusty was only one of two aircraft in Blade's life that were the biggest hot-dogs that he'd ever known, and the other was already dead.

As the last racer took to the air and was out of sight, everyone dispersed through the crowd to find themselves the best vantage point for the race. Clarice followed Skipper around until he found a suitable spot near the backstretch with a good view of the course for Dusty's run, at least a good spot if you were an airplane or other vehicle. Clarice stayed pretty close to Skipper. The smaller vehicles were usually better about it, but planes as a rule tended to be pretty out of sight, out of mind when it came to objects or persons below their field of vision, especially if they were tail-draggers. Clarice was currently huddled somewhere underneath Skipper's fuselage after a close call with someone's tail.

"Um, Skipper?"

"Mm?" he looked around them at the various planes obliviously moseying around, a little close for Clarice's comfort. "Oh." She peeked out from under his nose with a slightly pleading expression. "Oh, alright. Hop up, kid."

Clarice put a leg up and pulled herself onto Skipper's wing. He cringed a bit as she climbed up onto his back, but relaxed again as she wrapped both her arms and legs as far around his body as she could in a hug before scooching herself up further on her belly to rest her elbows on top of his canopy, one leg dangling at his side while the other was hiked up in place by hooking her foot over his back.

Skipper for his part wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to the alien feeling of something soft clambering over him, but he had still come to enjoy being petted or hugged. Oh, and he loved having his prop blades stroked. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, mind you.

Suddenly shouts of "Here they come!" and Clarice's best screeching impression of a rabid fan girl "I LOVE YOU DUSTY!" checked him and his eyes darted up skyward.

"And we have a race ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer called out as the eight competitors flew in a tight group over their heads, but once released to the course a white and red plane shot away from the pack with two others not far behind.

Blade looked for Dusty as the announcers rattled off everyone's placements for the first lap. There he was, fifth place among the remaining five racers, who hadn't quite split up yet.

"And that's it for the first lap." the announcer went on, "Rob Roy still holding his own down low on the course with about a one hundred sixty-two-foot lead with Black Jack and Zanthe battling it out for second. Making up the pack following behind are Miria Krukov in fourth, Dusty Crophopper is taking the high-road in fifth place, followed by Nicholas II in sixth, Monelle in seventh, and Livio Vanero bringing up the rear. Lead speed was two hundred ninety-one miles an hour for that lap."

Blade watched from his position on the ground, distantly surprised at himself at the growing anxiousness that he felt after another lap down, and Dusty hardly moving from his position in fifth. What was the problem? He really didn't seem to be doing very well at all, but then again, this was literally Blade's first time ever watching Dusty race; he couldn't even bring himself to watch him on television with the others in the main hangar back on base. So how was he supposed to know that Dusty was an out-and-out pace-stalker on the oval courses? Lying in wait quietly in the slipstreams of his competitors, biding his time until like an assassin out of the blue he makes his move, diving down and past them before they even knew what hit them, more often than not counting on the nervousness of those in front of him that knew how he flew to lead them into a crucial mistake.

The only reason he came out here was because he knew Dusty would keep calling him; he would keep calling him until he finally flew out. He would never get a moments peace. "It's real easy; it's just an oval course." he had said. "What could possibly go wrong?" he said. But Blade's exact thoughts were, _Plenty, you crazy little-_

But then suddenly Blade was jarred from his thoughts as the crowds around him roared to the cheer of the announcer.

"And there goes Crophopper!

And so Blade witnessed as about halfway through the third lap, Dusty gunned his engine and suddenly dove, Blade's own engines threatening to seize at the sheer speed the little orange and white plane gained as he blitzed in underneath Black Jack, a black and gold Lancair Legacy, and over the top of one of his stat rivals, Zanthe, a white, blue, and magenta striped Zlin Z-50, in hot pursuit of the current leader, and another rival, Rob Roy, a Lancair 360, white on top and red underneath.

"Fucking hell..." was the only breathless comment Blade was able to make at the sudden turn of events.

In a matter of moments Dusty had overtaken him, gaining about a sixty-foot lead, but as they blazed around the backstretch Rob Roy retook it on the inside corner. Dusty, determined to get his lead back, stayed right on his tail, moving above him on the straight away, the two going nearly wingtip to wingtip on the outside as they came around the backstretch again.

"Come on, kick his ass, Dusty!" Clarice was screaming as he regained the lead by another seventy-two feet, "Kick his ass!"

And so it went on for the next lap and a half, Rob Roy, overtaking him on the inside corners, and then Dusty blasting his way up and taking it back on the straightaways. Blade had a sense of foreboding as the thought occurred to him that the only thing between the two planes now was who's engine was going to go out first. A sensible plane would know when they were licked and would usually pull back, but Blade already knew the kind of plane that Dusty was. As they came around the backstretch during the final lap, Dusty clawing and fighting to keep his lead, which plane was which was decided as Rob Roy, in great risk of overheating at this point, pulled his throttle back, and Dusty won the race by a two second lead. There were cheers and whistles as he pulled up and gained altitude while the other racers finished out the race.

"And number seven, Dusty Crophopper takes the gold in the last heat for the Sporting Class! Followed by Rob Roy in second, Zanthe in third, Black Jack fourth, Miria Krukov fifth, Monelle sixth, Livio Vanero in seventh, and bringing it in last place is Nicholas II. Lead speed for the final lap was three hundred and twelve miles an hour."

Dusty was badly heated up himself as he panted, glad to be able to kick back for a minute, if you will, but he still feared that it wasn't going to be enough. He needed to get down, now! But he paced the field patiently, waiting for the officials to make their verdict. As soon as it was deemed a clean race and he was crowned the official winner, he took the first opportunity to land.

Blade and the rest of the crew were already in the pits awaiting his arrival, moving this thing and that out of the way or into place, getting several water jugs at the ready, a sense of practiced and organized urgency about them that did not go unnoticed by the helicopter. About a minute later he knew why as Dusty came rushing in, sobbing for breath with a certain level of panic evident in features. They were all right there in their positions to receive him, and he immediately set into the first jug of water, sucking it down desperately as if his life depended on it and then eagerly moving on to the next one.

"Why water?" Blade asked Skipper, coming to stand beside him. "I'd think oil would be a lot more efficient in helping him recover."

"You'll see in a minute." was Skipper's reply, his normally stony expression dampened a bit by a certain grave solemnity.

Dusty had just downed two full jugs of water and was halfway through with another before deciding he'd had enough. Shakily, he turned and headed for the shelter of his tent, but didn't get more than a few feet before suddenly faltering and heaving up everything that he'd just consumed all over the tarmac, echos of surprised "ooh's!" and a mildly scolding but sympathetic "Dusty..." from both Dottie and Clarice. _Ah_ , Blade thought, _that explains the water._ He looked to the other racers coming off the runway, looking rather winded, sure, but certainly not near incompacitation or collapse.

"Is it like this every time?" he asked Skipper again.

"Most times. Yes." was another simple answer.

Blade turned his eyes to Dusty, the same look of grave sympathy that Skipper wore, although it was making itself much more apparent as he watched Dusty being guided under the tent by Dottie and Chug. Clarice was by his side, rubbing and patting him just hard enough to keep him focused on something and in some level of consciousness yet soft enough to still be soothing. Dottie was hooking up a flow-by oxygen attachment to his intake while Chug braced against his other side in case he should lose his balance in his debilitated state.

"Okay, there you go," Dottie said soothingly and she finished the hookup.

"That's it buddy, slow it down," Chug was saying, "Take deep breaths."

Dusty seemed to have calmed down greatly, his eyes closed as he sagged in his landing gear, steadying his breathing as the cool, oxygenated air flowed over his engine.

"Want a shower..." he mumbled.

"We'll get you washed up after you've perked up a little bit. You've got plenty of time until the awards ceremony."

Blade had had more than he could stand, although he didn't quite show it. At least not yet. He turned silently and headed back for the hotel. He had no idea. He thought he knew, but he never really got it, and it was bringing back horrible memories and feelings in the older chopper. Now, he knew that Dusty would never stop racing, anymore than anyone could get him to stop being a firefighter, and he wasn't about to make him stop either. But deep down, Blade now knew with certainty, that if Dusty were to ever disappear into those blue skies as Nick had, he would just shrivel up and die.

XXxx

Later, feeling much better and revived after a good wash, Dusty and the gang attended the awards ceremony where Dusty received his trophy for winning the race, a grand bronze pedestal baring the likeness of last year's winner; next year's trophy would bare his own likeness at the top. With it came an inscribed silver plate with his win and the year on it, a huge, gorgeous bouquet of flowers, and of course one of those ridiculously-sized checks for the $50,000 winner's purse. And last but not least his official certificate of Champion of Record, with his newly titled name: AmCh. Dusty Crophopper RA, OCR.

It was a real trip, with the flash-bulbs going off like crazy and his friends and fans all cheering and whistling. But there was one face that was missing in the crowed. Dusty frowned. He couldn't see Blade anywhere. As soon as the ceremony was over, he scoured the grounds looking for him, but found no trace. Only knowing one other place to check, he asked the others to please pack his stuff up for him. He needed to go back to the hotel real quick.

XXxx

Dusty stopped outside the doors to Blade's hotel room, holding one of the bigger, nicer lilies from the bouquet in his mouth. He knocked, but got no answer. He freezes when he hears something that he can't quite recognize. Finding the doors unlocked, he silently made his way in, calling softly around the stem in his mouth.

"Blade?"

He found Blade sort of perched half on and half off the sleeping mat, front and right landing gear hanging off the side, staring out at the evening sky of the desert. This alone wouldn't have been all that odd, but what was odd was that there seemed to be a slight, wet sheen to his face, and his body looked like it was trembling. He didn't seem to have noticed Dusty in the room with him just yet.

"Blade?" he murmured, becoming concerned.

The little orange and white plane came around to stand in front of him. The larger helicopter's eyes are closed. Dusty gave a concerned smile, tilting to the side slightly before leaning down and putting the lily on the ground in front of him. Blade's eyes finally open, acknowledging the flower before turning up to catch Dusty's, and the racer is knocked sober without being drunk. Blade's normally icy eyes are full of an odd vibrancy that Dusty had never seen in them before. His breathing is harsh, labored. Almost shaking.

"Blade." Dusty pleads, not even sure of what he was asking for.

"Go away, Dusty..." he finally commands, his voice low but without any real authority to it.

Confused now, and sad, Dusty ignores the order. They aren't at the Air Attack base right now. He moves closer to the red and white helicopter.

"No, what's wrong, Blade?" the younger aircraft implores, "I can't understand or try to fix whatever it is unless you talk to me."

Despite what looked akin nearly to rage in his arctic-colored eyes, Dusty inches closer. In the evening breeze coming through the window, Dusty could feel the heat coming off of his body, and he shivered a bit with the contrast of the air around them.

"Please," Dusty whispers, knowing that Blade would still be able to hear him clearly, "Please."

Neither aircraft move for a time. Then Blade surprised the both of them.

"Damn you..." he mutters as he suddenly darts forward.

The next thing Dusty knew, was that he was being kissed like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Startled, the little plane doesn't know how to respond at first, simply allowing his senses to sink into the kiss as it continued, Blade's tongue running along the edge of Dusty's lip until he opens up for him. There was _fire_ in him. As if all the fires he'd fought were simply sucked up into his being in a passion he controls so tightly that when it's unleashed, it's almost impossible to resist as he kisses him like the world was coming to an end.

With no reason why not to, Dusty gives himself over to the flames, simply enjoying every single moment. He still hadn't stopped kissing him, only now he had moved from Dusty's lips down his chin, his throat, and touching, feeling, and kissing all down his body as if the little racer were about to vanish into thin air and he was trying to memorize each and every part of him.

It was almost over as fast as it had begun as Blade seemed to remember himself and tore his mouth away from the now overwhelmed frame. He feverishly opened his eyes, and plane and helicopter stared at one another, both feeling the cold ether of reality settle into their bodies after both of their worlds had almost connected. Dusty breathed hard as he heard Blade muttering and cursing in front of him.

"Well..." was just about the only breathless input that Dusty could manage in the moment, a baffled, but sort of amused "wow" expression on his face and in his tone.

Blade however, was definitely not amused. _Why?_ Had a weakness been triggered inside of him? _Why?_ There was a disjointed pain in his jaw from the way he was gritting his teeth so hard, and a fire scorching his eyes out from trying to keep his hysterical mania back. His fluttering engines kept skipping their rhythms and beats and pulses as he tried to calm himself down, tried to brace a sound mind. Tried to make sense of it.

 _Why?!_ This was the first and only time Blade would ever admit that he was terrified and horrified beyond all trauma that he'd ever undergone. What damnable force of gravity had magneted him to that plane's mouth? To touch, kiss, stroke, or caress any part of his body? Blade could only remember fractions and fragments of what just went on between his and Dusty's frames, their lips... their tongues. All he could bring up were drunken feelings, bubbling hot sensations, flurried fantasies, stimulated hormones, and the taste of motor oil and something _sweet..._ Did he honest to Chrysler think that he could somehow absorb this little plane's naivete, his happiness, his carefree, dreaming nature by sucking it out of him or something?! _WHY?!_ But then Dusty moved forward, toward Blade, an odd sense of calm and control purveying in his features.

"It's alright," he whispered. "Nothing has to change."

It was out of respect for the obvious turmoil the larger aircraft was in, and the possibility that he may come to the conclusion to decide not to decide as of yet. But even then, Blade made a noise what sounded like a little yelp in response, closing his eyes and shaking his front. He felt Dusty nuzzle him, bringing Blade's nose into the crook of his left wing before moving around and behind him to settle as much of his little body as he could against the AugustaWestland's right side, his wing resting just underneath his chin. He stiffened at first, but after a moment allowed himself to focus on the warmth of Dusty's frame against his and bask in the quiet of the room, listening to the steady, calm pace of the orange and white plane's breathing, unknowingly synchronizing his own with it as he felt, with a sort of torpid fascination, his own tension dissipate with the overwhelming feelings of peace radiating from the smaller aircraft.

Let it not be said that Blade would deny that he wasn't above letting Dusty take the lead in these situations, the little airplane being a bit more practiced and fresh in being in a Bonded Companionship than himself, having not really made any real Bonds with anyone for a tidy few decades before now. Not that Dusty had ever had to do much soothing himself, and hardly ever at all after a while being Bonded with Skipper, but he knew well enough what was appropriate to do in these circumstances after all the times that the stalwart Corsair had helped him through troubling times. Dusty was hoping he was emulating him well enough now in trying to comfort his obviously shaken Chief.

There they stayed for a time, neither uttering a word, until Blade was sufficiently relaxed and back into the cool, quiet confidence that any good leader should possess. Until the two aircraft were harmonized in the hearts of their bodies. Until they were the same. Dusty was the first to stir once everything had clicked over into completion. He breathed deeply, feeling the remnants of Blade's own massive, self-assured presence bleeding into him, and he released his breath as if he were blowing out a candle.

"Feeling a little better?" he asked, withdrawing a bit and looking up at the red and white helicopter.

"Better."

"Well, I'll bet my stuff's all been brought up to my room by now." Dusty continued, "Come on, I wanna show you all the stuff I got. Come with me?"

"... Alright."

Dusty's room was two floors above where Blade was staying. They were all pretty much spread out over the hotel. With the kind of draw of such an event, and rather poor planning on their part, they were lucky to even be in the same hotel at all. Blade lounged down on the sleeping mat as Dusty showed him his winnings as the RSN ran in the background on a flat-screen TV. He listened quietly as Dusty showed him his Champion of Record certificate, telling him what the different abbreviated titles stood for and how the points schedule worked. The way his face was lit up at talking about something he was so passionate about, that made him feel so alive and happy, was impossible to not let a small smile tug up at the Air Boss' lips. And yet...

As they sat together on the sleeping mat, watching some of the highlights that were still playing, Blade couldn't help but try to stifle down a wince and a soft "gah..." at the footage of Dusty going into that dive and zooming between Black Jack and Zanthe.

"Pretty good, huh?" Dusty asked, a touch of smugness coloring his voice.

"That could have gone real bad."

"Only it didn't."

"But it could've."

"Blade..."

Blade turned to Dusty then, the seriousness of his tone grabbing his attention, and Dusty moved forward to touch the tip of his nose cone to Blade's. The action caused Blade to focus on Dusty's eyes, which had taken on a sudden level of solemn understanding in their sky-blue depths.

"You can't be scared for me every time I go up." the racer began, "Anymore than I can be scared for you every time you're out fighting a fire." Blade blinked, otherwise keeping perfectly still as Dusty spoke. "I can't really speak for you, but I don't need you to be scared for me; I'm actually plenty scared for myself, thank you; I'm not completely crazy. Whatever might happen, we put ourselves in those situations because it was what we thought was right. At least that way, we _chose_ it. It was our _choice_. Can't that be a _good_ thing?"

Blade continued to stare, attentively taking in everything that was said. Ah, yes. He supposed that **was** a better way of thinking about it, if he had to think about it at all. This little plane never ceased to amaze him. How he was able to go from child-like exuberance and guilelessness to sudden learned and level maturity was beyond him. Dusty slid his nose over and down along Blade's nose, and gave him a kiss near the corner of his mouth, as he had that momentous night that had set off the start of their partnership as Bonded Companions. Only this time Blade moved his mouth over to give Dusty the same kind of kiss before giving a few little licks just under his eye. Then Dusty was back to his vibrant, playful self as Blade noticed that tell-tale glint in his eye before he jumped up, landing heavily against the helicopter's side and biting at him playfully, his little wheels slipping in trying to get up to nip at his rotors next. Blade responded by heaving the front of his bulk up and over the orange and white racer's body and squashing him down into the sleeping mat.

Dusty let out an "oof!" as he was pressed down, putting an end to any more of his shenanigans; they were indoors, after all, but not before getting in a few nips of his own, pinching just enough to start tickling the helpless little plane into submission.

"Blade! No, stop it ha ha! I give, I give okay?"

"That's what I thought, Champ." Blade said, smiling as he let Dusty back up, the nickname carrying new significance now.

Dusty clambered out from underneath the larger aircraft, having half a mind to jump him again for tickling him, but stopped at the helicopter drawing in a deep yawn.

"Are you tired?"

"Little bit."

"You can just stay here with me if you want." Dusty offered, "The sleeping mats in this place are way too big for me anyway."

"Ooh, good news." Blade deadpanned, "Instead of the usual 1/16 of the space you usually leave me the few times we've slept together, I'll get a whole quarter to myself."

"Oh, shut up. So you'll stay?"

"Yeah I'm stayin'."

After the lights were turned out, Dusty snuggled in deeply to his part-time leader, full-time Companion.

"Goodnight, Blade."

"Night, kid."

Dusty crashed out pretty quickly, as could only be expected after the day he'd had, but Blade lay awake a little longer, looking out the window down onto the lights of downtown Tucson in the valley below, feeling happy and just that much more settled in himself. He let out a contented sigh, his eyes falling shut as he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly, poor Blade is having difficulties in getting back into the routines and sometimes ritualistic behavior of Bonded Companionship after not being bonded with someone for so long, and obviously also experiencing some misplaced fear and anxiety at the thought of the possibility of such a traumatic event in his past repeating itself, then relief at seeing Dusty make it back safely, but only to have the bad feelings come back again at the what-if factor of it being the next race that finally does him in. Thankfully our Dusty always seems to know what to do!


End file.
